Life was cruel.
But nobody who saw her passing would have guessed at the thunderous thoughts behind Daylily’s face. She kept herself in excellent order (though her pillow, had it possessed a voice, may have complained of a few vicious poundings in the small hours of the night).
The carriage rolled through the Barony of Idlewild, and now the road led increasingly upward. Soon enough, Daylily found herself gazing back down on the world, and she had to admit, it was a thrilling view. Then the woods grew tall all around her, and villages were few and far between.
One night, while resting herself before the great fire of a mountain inn, she heard a sound such as she had never heard before. She raised her face from a cup of steaming cider and inquired of her goodwoman what it was.
“A wolf, m’lady,” said her goodwoman.
“Ah,” said Lady Daylily, taking another sip. The sound came again, and it gave her a delightful shiver. “Are there many wolves in this part of the country?”
“More than anywhere else, they say,” her goodwoman replied. “Once upon a time, ’tis said the Wolf Lord himself hunted in these mountains. But that was long ago.”
“A legend,” said Daylily with the tiniest shrug. “A Faerie story.” But she was pleased to hear that lone wolf cry a third time. A smile touched the corner of her mouth.
Her goodwoman shuddered, however, and her movements were hurried as she laid out her lady’s clothing for tomorrow’s journey. “They say that a monster lives in these parts to this day,” she said in a low voice.
“A monster?” Daylily’s smile vanished. “What sort of monster? The Wolf Lord’s ghost?”
“Not a ghost, m’lady,” said her goodwoman. “No one can say what it is exactly, but all agree that it is no ghost.”
Daylily shook her head and finished off her cider. “Silly country talk,” she said, setting aside her mug. “I don’t know why you listen to it.”
But the wolf’s cry had awakened in her something she had not known existed: the same spirit of adventure that had touched young Leo many years before. Perhaps—and she scarcely allowed herself to think this—perhaps a summer away from dances and assemblies might not be so horrible? The mountain air was crisp and fresh like no air she had ever before breathed. Perhaps she had fallen on her feet after all.
Then Daylily met Leo, and all such thoughts vanished.
The baron’s carriage rumbled into the yard of Hill House, and Dame Willowfair, her son, Foxbrush, and young Leo stood on the doorstep to meet it. The house was grand enough, Daylily admitted to herself as she gazed out the carriage window and waited for the footman to open the door. Rather a strange sight so far out in the wild, but handsome. She need not fear passing the summer in want.
The footman handed her out, and she curtsied before those at the doorstep. Dame Willowfair said something unmemorable, but when Daylily rose again she fixed her attention solely on the boy she was to win for her husband.
What a gawky clown!
True, he was dressed up well enough in velvets and lace (much too hot for a summer day), and these were tailored so as to disguise as much of his scrawniness as possible. But it would take miracles to hide it all. And he wouldn’t even meet her eyes as he bowed stiffly. He stood there like a ridiculous schoolboy, shuffling his feet.
Daylily scarcely spared a glance for his cousin, who was, as far as that one glance could tell her, an oiled and stuffed mimic of Leo.
But her father had given her orders, and Daylily was not one to shirk a duty. She extended a gloved hand to Leo, giving him no choice but to take it. “Thank you for inviting me to join you this summer,” she said.
Leo accepted her hand and was obliged to really look at her for the first time. He found himself gazing into the face of the prettiest girl he had ever met.
“Um. Glad you came,” he said.
Two weeks passed at Hill House, and still Leo could not catch a moment for himself.
He sat in the library with Foxbrush and Daylily a few days after that lady’s arrival. She remained aloof as ever, working at stitching. Leo and Foxbrush sat in armchairs opposite each other in the library, each pretending to concentrate on his summer studies and neither succeeding. Leo’s mind kept running among three distinct subjects: first, how much he disliked his cousin’s hair oil; second, how surprisingly good-looking Lady Daylily was; third, how much longer it might be before he found a chance to slip out on his own.
He knew if he dared attempt an escape out the garden gate, his cousin was sure to follow. Neither he nor Foxbrush had breathed a word about their confrontation in the forest years ago, but neither had forgotten. Leo felt Foxbrush’s squint-eyed stare upon him far more often than he liked. Don’t even think about leaving, that stare said. But Leo thought about it.
Something had changed at Hill House, though Leo couldn’t quite put his finger on what. Perhaps it was merely the difference between an eleven-year-old boy’s perspective and that of a lad of sixteen. Leo suspected not, however. No one in the house itself had changed significantly: Leanbear still drove the horses, Redbird still cooked and baked, Dame Willowfair still rose at noon to powder her nose.
But this time, everyone watched him. And once Daylily arrived, they watched him even more closely, as though expecting him to explode with professions of love and poetry and nonsense at any moment. He glanced at Daylily again, seated with ramrod-straight back, her delicate hands working away at a bit of stitching. She really was a fine-looking girl, he had to admit. Somehow, he couldn’t picture her climbing boulders or building dams or waging war upon invisible enemies. Which was acceptable, he supposed. Pretty girls weren’t intended for such activities. But he could not see her as a friend.
Leo set aside his textbook and moved to the window, gazing out upon the garden. Funny, he thought as he looked at all the starflower vines tumbling over the garden walls. They’d really let those vines get out of control in the last few years. Where was old Mousehand to prune them back? There wasn’t a sign of the bush-bearded gardener’s creaking form as far as Leo could see. He frowned.
All the while he stood there, Daylily watched him over her stitchery. And Foxbrush watched Daylily watching him and thought many thoughts, most of them unkind. The day drifted by at an interminable rate.
At length, Daylily set aside her work. “I hear tell there is a monster in these parts.”
Leo startled at her words, then turned to glare furiously at his cousin. “What did you tell her?” he growled.
Foxbrush raised his textbook like a shield. “I didn’t breathe a word! You’re the one with the obsession.”
“Mind your own business!”
“I will, as I always have,” Foxbrush retorted. They continued to glare at each other, though perhaps Foxbrush sank a little behind his tome.
Daylily eyed the two with a quizzically raised brow. In that moment, how she missed the elegant young men with whom she was accustomed to passing her days. What had her father’s fool Plan brought her to?
“Well,” she said, tapping a finger on the arm of her chair, “is there or isn’t there?”
“What?” Leo asked.
“A monster?”
“No,” said Leo.
“No,” said Foxbrush.
But their tones implied otherwise.
Daylily sighed. This was going to be the longest summer of her existence, but at least she could make the most of it. She rose from her chair, arranged her skirts, and gave the lads a deceptively placid look. “Shall we, then?”
Leo narrowed his eyes. “Shall we what?”
“Hunt the monster?” She stepped from the room.
Leo and his cousin stared at the door through which she’d just gone, stared at each other, then broke and bolted at the same time, calling after her as they went. “Lady Daylily, wait!” She was halfway down the stairway when they caught up with her, both of them out of breath, and Foxbrush’s oiled hair standing up in a most unnatural manner.
“Lady Daylily,�
�� said Foxbrush, leaping ahead of her and putting an arm on the stair rail to bar her way, “you really mustn’t.”
“Why mustn’t I?”
“It’s not right for a lady of your station to wander in the forest alone,” said Leo.
“I don’t intend to go alone,” she replied. “I intend for you to accompany me.”
“But we told you,” Foxbrush insisted, “there is no monster. And you shouldn’t hunt it.”
“I have hunted foxes many a time,” said she with a quick dart from her eyes that sent Foxbrush down an extra step or two. She was very beautiful indeed when angry, and her eyes were very blue. “I think I can hunt an imaginary monster without mishap.”
“You’ll dirty your dress,” said Leo.
The look she gave him was withering. “I am not some dainty flower. I can suffer a little dirt.”
She pushed past them both, heedless of their cries, grabbed a bonnet from its place near the door, and paused a moment to tie it on. Here, Foxbrush gave Leo a last desperate glance, then blurted, “They’re under orders to not let Leo out of their sight.”
So the secret was out. Leo felt his heart sink before leaping back into place, racing double time. He was a prisoner, was he? No wonder the atmosphere at Hill House was altered! This was his mother’s doing, no doubt. Starflower wasn’t about to let her young colt kick up his heels without ramming a bit of some sort between his teeth. Leo swore under his breath.
Daylily’s face remained calm as ever. She finished tying her bonnet, then swept down a side passage, the two lads trailing behind her to the kitchens, where Redbird worked and Leanbear took his ease with a cup of tea. They both looked up in surprise when Daylily entered the room. The beautiful baron’s daughter had scarcely given any of the household staff a glance since arriving; even her servant considered herself too good for those who lived at Hill House.
Yet there Daylily stood, her hair very red, her gown very green, and Redbird had to agree that she was far too fine a lady to be standing in Hill House’s kitchen.
“I am going for a walk up the mountain,” Daylily declared before Leanbear had the chance to scramble to his feet. “These two will accompany me.”
There could be no gainsaying her wishes. Redbird curtsied and said that dinner was at six, but that was all the say she had in the matter. Daylily was gone and the two boys with her.
So maybe pretty girls were worth more than he had first thought, Leo considered as he followed Daylily through the gardens and out the garden gate. The path up the mountain was exactly as he remembered it, but it took on a whole new aura with Daylily marching up it, as purposeful as a queen; not to mention Foxbrush, perspiring a few steps after her.
It would be all right, Leo told himself as he lagged a little behind them both. Daylily knew nothing about this mountain. She would lead them on a long march up the path, eventually realize that she wasn’t going to find anything, and turn around once more. This thought brought him comfort, for despite his pleasure at being at last beyond the garden wall, Leo found that he had no desire to pursue that old monster-hunting game of his.
He did not want anyone else to hunt it either.
“We should turn around now,” Foxbrush said before they’d gone even ten minutes up the road.
Daylily graced him with no answer. Her red curls escaped from beneath her hat and trailed down her back like some battle standard, and her eyes were sharp as they gazed about the forest. She was no fool; her years in the cunning social circles at the baron’s court had taught her a good deal about reading people, and she could read Leo and his cousin without difficulty. They were both frightened when she mentioned the monster, though for different reasons . . . and the conflict in their emotions led her to believe she had nothing to fear as she progressed up the mountain, while it simultaneously whetted her curiosity. Dancing and receiving attentions from admiring young men were all well and good, but here was a mystery like none she had ever before encountered. Daylily was not one to shy away from a mystery.
She saw the red scarf tied to the silver tree. And she saw the trail, almost hidden, leading deeper into the forest.
Gathering up her skirts still more firmly in each hand, she made the plunge into the wood. Foxbrush and Leo gave each other horrified looks, then darted in after her. “Wait, wait!” they both cried. “You can’t go in there!”
“I see no reason why not,” she replied. “Though if you two keep making that racket, we’ll not find so much as a squirrel, much less a monster.”
How strange it was to walk this path again, far stranger in this company. It was something terrible to watch Daylily in her finery marching through the underbrush like she owned it and, notwithstanding her long skirts, making less noise than Foxbrush, who muttered and cursed and stepped on every crackly stick as he went.
The landmarks were familiar, despite the passage of years. Things change slowly in the forest, and Leo felt as does a man returning home after a long absence. His eyes, when they weren’t following Foxbrush and Daylily, sought out those little haunts and hollows that he had missed without realizing he missed them.
And everywhere he looked, he expected to see Rose Red. But she was not there.
They came to the place where the narrow path passed near the creek, and Leo, who was listening for it, heard the water flowing up above. He paused, watching Daylily and Foxbrush continue on ahead until they had disappeared into the greenery. Even Daylily’s bright hair had vanished from sight.
Still he debated with himself. Did he want to make that climb? Did he truly want to see the lonely spot where he had spent so many happy hours? Did he dare hope to find . . .
“Iubdan’s beard,” he muttered, “be a man, Leo! There’s nothing to be scared of.”
He scrambled up the steep incline, pushing through the thick mountain growth.
He found the creek flowing as it had for countless generations. The water was ice-cold and high enough to flow over the tops of his shoes and wet his stockings thoroughly. He splashed on through it anyway, not bothering to step from stone to stone, for they were too slippery to trust.
All signs of the dam that once created the Lake of Endless Blackness were gone, the sticks of sunken ships long since washed away, and the stones blended in with all the others on the creek bottom. But Leo recognized the spot at once. And his gaze sought those familiar places where a little girl should be sitting, swathed in her veils, hard at work weaving sticks together to form a seaworthy hull, or those spots in the foliage where a goat might forage with irritable bleats.
But they were gone. Only their memories, like ghosts, remained.
Leo sat beside the creek, his wet shoes still in the flowing water, his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Rose Red,” he whispered, and the babbling water drowned his voice. “I’m sorry for what I saw in the cave.”
An awful silence fell.
It was as though deafness struck him, and all the sounds of the mountain went still, even the stream’s murmuring. He felt the strange tension of the forest. For a moment, he sensed the anger that flowed across the mountain, indefinable but undeniable. He drew his feet up from the water, which was suddenly warm, almost hot. The air trembled, and Leo, just in that instant, was afraid.
The moment passed. The silence broke to the sound of birdsong far away. Birdsong that nearly, but not quite, held words:
Beyond the Final Water falling
The Songs of Spheres recalling . . .
“Rose Red,” Leo whispered, bowing his head, “won’t you return to—”
“What are you doing?”
He startled. Daylily stood across the creek, her hands holding her skirts, which were more than a little mussed by now, and her bonnet was crooked on her head. But her face, though flushed from the climb, was as quiet and inscrutable as ever.
“What are you doing?” Leo asked back, and though he knew it was terribly impolite, he did not rise. After all, it wasn’t ladylike for Daylily to be tramping about the forest;
why should he follow all the social niceties?
Daylily put out a daintily shod foot to one of the creek stones, felt it to make certain she would not slip, then stepped onto it. In this way she crossed over the creek, only wetting the edge of her skirt. Then, to Leo’s surprise, she took a seat on the dirty bank beside him.
“You are hunting something out here, aren’t you?” she said, and he felt her penetrating gaze on the side of his face. He shrugged. “Not a monster?” she guessed.
“No,” said Leo. “Not a monster.”
Daylily’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. His features were soft, more a boy’s than a man’s as yet. But she could see where maturity might make him handsome. He was, she thought, one who would need to succeed at something. Not merely succeed to the position to which he was born; no, much more than that. He would need a quest, a purpose, some deed to fulfill before he could hope to become the man he should be.
A pity, really, for a boy like Leo was rarely given such an opportunity.
Daylily pursed her lips, surprised how, for the briefest moment, her heart went out to this boy who, though the same age as she, seemed so much younger. “Why are you sad?” she asked.
“I’m not sad.”
“You are.”
“Where did you leave Foxbrush?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
Leo hung his head lower, his black hair flopping over his forehead.
But Daylily persisted. “You’re searching for someone. Whom?”
“My best friend.”
“Ha!”
Leo looked up in time to see her brief smile. It was the first he’d seen on her face since she came to Hill House, and it was, he thought, rather nice, if not altogether comfortable on her face.
“Not Foxbrush, then.”
“No! Definitely not Foxbrush.”
Veiled Rose Page 11
